


The Heroes of Stalag 13

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [1]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Non-con (threatened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The lanky Cockney only cared about himself, made no bones about it.  Was a natural-born coward and had proclaimed that to all and sundry many times over.  The only ones he couldn't convince were Louie LeBeau and Andrew Carter, and Kinch found that not only puzzling but more than a little annoying. Were they both just that naive?  Or was he missing something?





	The Heroes of Stalag 13

They were used to feeling unsafe outside the fence; after all, they were doing things that would get them shot or worse if the Germans figured it out. Inside the fence, though, that was a different story. Barring something totally unexpected, they actually felt somewhat at ease. Not like being at home, of course, but Hogan had the Commandant eating out of his hand, the Commandant controlled the guards, Schultze and Langenscheidt went out of their way to look the other way when the guys got up to their monkey business. As long as the Gestapo didn't find the tunnels, and no one betrayed them, they were as safe as they were likely to get in the middle of a war, inside that barbed wire fence. So far, the biggest danger seemed to be ending up in the one cell in the cooler to which they didn't have a tunnel, and sometimes they didn't even mind ending up there, if the weather wasn't too cold, and it wasn't for too long, maybe a week or so, when they just needed a bit of time alone to think.

Then the totally unexpected DID happen, and safety was a thing of the past. Three new guards, Weber, Bauer and Schmitz arrived to take up duty at Stalag 13; that wasn't anything new; guards rotated in and out, depending on who was sick, who got transferred, whatever. What was different was the nature of these three. Not just bullies, something different, something more dangerous; they'd obviously known each other for some time, they were a team, Weber being the leader. Olson, sporting new bruises, was the first to report to Hogan, followed by Jameson, also badly bruised, followed by Lerner, bruised and with a broken wrist; all with stories of blows and twisting of arms and being snatched at and groped. Seemingly the three guards had a particular type they liked to harrass, younger, slight of build, seemingly a bit hapless.

It was only a matter of time before Carter came to their attention; he certainly fit the profile, indeed was the epitome of the profile, and it was only due to him spending the past week in the infirmary with a slight case of pneumonia that had kept him out of their sights til then. He had been cornered by Weber and his men soon after his release, and only the fast arrival of Hogan and his command team had kept him from being roughed up badly. Hogan had complained to the Commandant, to no avail; these three were under the protection of someone higher in the food chain, and Klink not allowing himself to take Hogan's complaints seriously. Hogan had alerted his men to be extra aware of the guards, and to not let them corner any of the men alone; from then on, the prisoners went about in small groups, and no one got any alone time. The lack of privacy was offset by the lowering of personal risk, though, so no one complained. In the meantime, Hogan was continuing to work on the Commandant to try to get these three shipped out of here as soon as possible, but that was proving much harder than anticipated. Seems these three had been sent here by some General, and the Commandant wasn't listening to any of Hogan's persuasion this time. 

His command team stuck pretty much together these days, Kinch and Newkirk keeping an eye out for trouble, being sure to keep Carter and LeBeau, the more vulnerable ones, close at hand, while trying to keep a watch on the other prisoners as well. Hogan had started assigning some of the larger, bulkier men as their own 'guards' for the other prisoners, at least two per barracks, alerting the team if the three were on the prowl around the camp, but with there being three of the guards, that hadn't worked as well as Hogan had hoped. Twice now, he'd coming running to the sound of mahem, to find his 'guards' being tossed around by the three Germans. They didn't dare risk open rebellion; the new ones carried their rifles like they'd have no hesitation in using them, unlike Schultz and the other old timers. Klink was still not being persuadable, and even Burkhaulter was unswayable, and it was just a matter of time before something bad happened.

Roll call had been a bit early, Klink had a cold coming on and was anxious to get to his own quarters and dose himself with a nice glass of schnapps and possibly turn in early. The men were dismissed, and headed back to the barracks when the three started their move. They had earlier directed the other guards on duty to move prisoners along to the barracks at double time, and to secure the barracks with the riot bars. In the resulting confusion, since the prisoners weren't used to being herded back so quickly, and the other guards weren't used to using the bars, they had cut Carter off from the others, after stumbling into him and knocking him off balance. When he righted himself, he saw two of them between him and the barracks door, and the door closing behind the last of his friends; he looked over his shoulder, and there was the third one, and he started to dodge, trying to get to the door at a run. Suddenly Newkirk was beside him, pushing him along, "Get in there, Carter, now!" The guards closed in, and Newkirk pushed Carter behind him, manoeuvering them so the three guards were in front, and the barracks to the rear.

Ernst Weber was the leader, and he moved up a step, "Just move on, Englander. It's not you we want, not tonight," with an evil grin. Newkirk tensed, readied himself to move quickly; he pushed back, grabbed Carter and shoved him so hard he actually hit the door, "Get in there, Andrew, NOW!" Carter yanked up the bar, and pounded on the door and it opened, and he fell inside, but Ernst had knocked Newkirk to the ground just as he reached the door, and Bauer and Schmitz grabbed it, pulled it shut and slammed the riot bar down.

Inside was pandemonium, with Carter gasping out what had happened to Hogan and the others; pounding on the door did nothing, not with the bar in place and the windows being blocked too. LeBeau ran to the periscope, to see what was happening, and yelled for the Colonel, who quickly took his place. He saw Newkirk, now held in between Bauer and Schmitz, Weber yelling at him, hitting him, and then, gesturing for the other two to pull Newkirk between the buildings.

"Kinch, be ready to move out with the men when the bars come off the door and windows! LeBeau, Carter, thru the tunnel, come up outside the guards barracks and get to Schultze and Langenscheidt, get them out there right now! I'll get out there and get the bars off."

"Mon Colonel, they'll know about the tunnels, know we have another way out," LeBeau reminded him, not protesting, just acting as the devil's advocate the way Newkirk usually did.

"No, I'll break one of the supports for the window bar outside, look like it was weakened so it gave way under our pounding; get me a prybar, someone! Move, everyone move!"

***

Newkirk knew he was in for a time of it, if he even survived this night, but he couldn't have left Andrew to these three. He'd waited, skirted the guards when they rousted everyone inside the barracks, waited til he could be sure everyone was inside safe, planning to be the last one in; he'd always taken on the role of protector for the team, young Andrew in particular, and tonight was no different. He'd seen Carter get cornered, and moved quickly before the guards could get him in their grip. He'd hoped there'd be enough time to get both of them inside, but that hadn't been possible. Well, he'd done the best he could for Andrew; now, he had to do the best he could for himself; it didn't seem his mates would be able to help him with this one without giving away the tunnels, and that couldn't happen, he accepted that, not just for one man.

Bauer and Schmitz pulled, half dragging him between the barracks, with Weber following. They pushed him, letting him fall to one knee, the three surrounding him now, a couple of yards away. He wiped the blood from his mouth, watching them, waiting for a chance to make a break. {'If I can make it into the compound and start yelling, maybe Schultze or Langenscheidt, or even ol' Klink may 'ear and do something. Leastwise, in the open, maybe they'll think twice afore they actually kill me.'}

There was no opportunity, however; Weber moved in, signaling the other two and they had him down on his back in an instant; before he could roll away, he got a quick boot in the ribs, another to the stomach, and a particularly painful one in the low back that caused his legs to go temporarily numb. He was dragged to his feet, them holding him up since he couldn't stand, receiving blow after blow, til Weber called a halt.

"Now he's felt the hard German Faust," looking at the other two and laughing, "now, let's let him feel the hard German Schwanz!" and the other two joined in the laughter. Bauer dragged him over to the trash barrel, Schmitz tipping it over, and threw him face down over it; he felt ribs crack and break from the force of his fall. He was still struggling, no strength left, but fighting from instinct, when Schmitz reached under and yanked his pants down to his knees, Bauer holding him down with a knee to the back. He turned his head, his eyes dazed and bleary, to see Weber standing back, cock in hand, massaging himself.

"First me, Englander, then Schmitz, then finally, Bauer. After Bauer, you'll be ruined for anyone, he's built like a bull and not many survive his attentions," with another, almost pleasant laugh, {"all the world as if 'e was sharing a joke with the guys down at the local,"} Peter thought vaguely. He knew he should be terrified now, but he wasn't thinking that clearly anymore, that last blow to the head, maybe. He was just hurting, and starting to get sick to his stomach, and thinking that this wasn't how he'd pictured his last minutes on this earth, {'After all the jobs we pulled, all the capers, what a bloody waste, how bloody 'umiliating, to end up dead out behind the barracks with me pants around me ankles.'}

***

Carter and LeBeau had raced through the tunnel, coming up beside the guards barracks, and had dashed through the door. The guards were in various stages of dress and undress, some playing at cards, some cleaning their rifles. Langenscheidt was closer than some, luckily, and recognized the wild-eyed young man who almost fell through the door, the other following waving his arms frantically.

"Sergeant Carter, Corporal LeBeau? What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in the barracks! What is this?"

Carter was almost sobbing, not quite shouting, "You've got to stop them, please, you've got to help!"

Karl motioned the milling guards away with a frown, put his hand under Carter's arm, and settled him onto a bench, LeBeau hovering, moving back and forth, jabbering in French, which really didn't help the matter since Langenscheidt couldn't understand either of them now. "What, stop what".

"Weber, the others, they have Newkirk, they're going to kill him; between the barracks, please!"

Langenscheidt knew the new guards, and wouldn't have put anything past them; he believed what Carter said could easily be true. He quickly sent one of the guards to fetch Sergeant Schultz; when the man started to protest that what Coporal Weber did wasn't their business, he selected another quickly, and raged at the first man, "the prisoners are for us to guard, not for us to harm! Do you not understand that? Do you know of NO ONE in one of their camps? Would you want their guards to behave this way?" He quickly grabbed his rifle, motioned to three of the guards he truly trusted, and started out, Carter and LeBeau right beside him.

"No, Carter, you wait for the Sergeant; tell him, bring him," and Carter reluctantly remained. Luckily Schultz was just rounding the corner and met the group of guards; seeing that, Carter dashed to join them.

"Hurry! Please hurry!" Langenscheidt explained to Schultz as they made their way across the compound, Schultz breathing hard as he moved faster than was his usual mode of travel. He liked LeBeau, Carter, he liked the tall Englishman; to him, they were, in a way, his 'boys'; the thought of one of them hurt was not one he liked. He took the time to pull back one of the guards; "Go get the Commandant, immediately; tell him there is trouble, he MUST come without delay, be sure he is armed, he cannot allow this!." This put Schultz several steps behind Langenscheidt, even more distance between them grew as Schultz struggled, breathing hard.

The guard wasn't sure the Commandant would listen to him; he figured he might end up on the Russian Front for this, but he obeyed orders. Luckily he caught Klink just after he had removed his boots, but before he undressed; frowning, complaining, making threats about what they'd all suffer if this turned out to be some monkey business, he tucked his pistol into his waistband and dashed out with the guard. 

Hogan had come up through the tunnel nearest the water tower, and dashed to the barracks, removing the bar from one window, forcing one support, breaking it. He dashed to the others, throwing the bars down, thumping his fist against the door to signal Kinch. He headed around the barracks at a run.

Hogan, Schultz, the Commandant, all reached the same spot at approximately the same time, the men only a few steps behind.

****

Langenscheidt and his two guards had rounded the corner and screeched to a halt, openmouthed at the scene in front of him, just in time to hear Weber's words, too shocked to be able to process them before Newkirk was thrown down violently and Weber bragged to the Englander of their intentions.

"Halt! You will stop this immediately," he called out, his voice shaking. Weber outranked him, Bauer and Schmitz were of the same rank, he had no authority here and he knew it; he only hoped he could delay these men until Schultz and the Commandant arrived.

Weber turned to him in a rage, "Get out of here and get those prisoners out of here too, unless you want to leave them for our attentions as well! You have nothing to say to this! Get back to the barracks or I'll have you all shot for disobeying a superior!"

The other guards looked to Langenscheidt, who was seeing his future rapidly going down the drain, but unwilling to let his honor go down as well.

"No! You will stop, you will step away from that man!"

"Man? He is a prisoner, an Englander! He is ours to do with as we please!"

Hogan started forward, only to be stopped by Kinch, who was starring at the scene, "Wait, Colonel, I think this might be better out of our hands now!" as Schultz, gasping for air, leveled his rifle at the group, "I say you will let him go, and step back, and you will do it now!" Weber started to laugh at the fat sergeant, dismissively, when he looked behind to see the Commandant standing there, in stocking feet, staring at the scene in disbelief.

"What, what is going on here?"

"Nothing, Herr Commandant, just disciplining a rebellious prisoner," Weber started, when Langenscheidt broke in, "No, Herr Commandant, that is not it! I saw, I heard what he said!" At an order from Klink, Langenscheidt related what he had overheard, what Weber had said about Newkirk feeling the hard German fist, and now to feel the hard German, the young soldier stuttered before he said it, cock; he repeated what he'd heard about them each taking a turn, about Schmitz and the probability of Newkirk not surviving, and the way Weber had laughed. The sight of Newkirk, dazed, bleeding from the nose and mouth, rolling painfully off the barrel to collapse in the dirt, trying to pull his pants up to his waist again, corroborated Langenscheidt's sordid tale. 

Klink stood, staring, swallowed, looking at the lanky Englishman, a prisoner remanded to his care, now curled on the ground, retching, gasping for air, injured while in his care, by men under his command. "Kommandant, he's hurt, let me get him out of here!" Hogan urged quickly.

Klink glanced over, "Hogan" he said quietly, almost in a whisper, "get Newkirk to the infirmary. I will deal with this."

Hogan motioned to his command team to move in, only to be stopped by Weber drawing his pistol, blustering, "I say No! Who rules this camp, Klink, you or these prisoners? You have to show them who is in charge!"

Klink drew his revolver, "I am in charge, and you will step aside." Weber started to perhaps gesture with the gun, perhaps fire it, no one ever knew; Klink's revolver went off, and Weber went down, blood pouring from the hole in his chest. Klink went pale, looking at his gun as if he had never seen it before, but recovered quickly, "Hogan, did you not hear me? Get Newkirk, get him away from here. Get the rest of your men back in their barracks. Sergeant Schultze, arrest these two men and put them in the cooler, separate cells, and drag that, that . . . Put Weber in the solitary cell til I decide what to do with his body." 

***

Newkirk was battered and bruised, bleeding from the mouth and nose, and Wilson had confirmed the broken ribs. He was still in the infirmary getting patched up when Hogan and the command team came in.

"Did I really 'ear that right, Gov? Did Schultzie and Karl really face those bastards down? Did old Klink really shoot that wanker?" he asked incredulously?

"Oui, mon ami," LeBeau broke in, shaking his head, "they were heroes tonight, as were you, and I intend to make something marvelous for them, to thank them for helping you. And for you, I will even make those bangers and mash you so misguidedly crave."

Hogan stood back, looking solemn and withdrawn, looking guilty, "I'm sorry, Newkirk, I shouldn't have let this happen, I should have done something about them before . . . ". 

Newkirk looked at his commanding officer, "Well, you tried, didn't you, Gov? Wasn't your fault they got assigned 'ere, or that old Klink 'ad orders to keep them 'ere, no matter what. You can't fix everything, you know, no matter 'ow you try to."

Carter was looking angry and rebellious, standing staring at Newkirk, not saying anything. {'When Carter ain't saying anything, that's trouble for sure,'} Newkirk thought, looking over at his young friend.

"Andrew, you alright then?" he asked, hesitantly. Carter just threw back his head and glared.

"Mates, 'ow about you give us some room, eh? Wilson says I've got to spend the night 'ere, and I'll see all of you in the morning, alright?" nodding to them meaningfully, motioning with his head to Carter. When Carter started to leave with them, he stopped him with, "No, not you, Andrew. Seems like me and you need to 'ave a bit of a chat."

Newkirk lit up a cigarette painfully, looking through the smoke consideringly. "Alright, Andrew. You might as well say it, whatever it is; no sense letting it eat at you." This, from a man who kept his inner feelings locked tight inside, avoided talking about them ferociously, would have been amusing under other circumstances.

Carter frowned, and started to speak, his voice high and cracking, "Why did you do that!? They could have killed you, they intended to HURT you! It's not your JOB to protect me! I'd never ask that of you, I don't ever want you to do something like that again!" all in one long rush. Then in a small, desperate voice, "I don't want to lose you! I don't want you to die because of me!"

Peter took another drag off the cigarette, breathing deep, wincing at the pain that set off in his damaged ribs, buying time. He carefully pinched the cigarette with his fingers and stored it away for another time. "Course it's me job, Andrew, one I set for meself, and those're the most important kind. I didn't intend to get caught out there, you know; I'm no 'ero; the plan was to get both of us inside, it just went pear shaped; things like that 'appen, you know that. And, yes, Andrew luv, if need be, I'll do it again," his eyes looking quietly into the tearfilled eyes of the younger man. Andrew just stood there, eyes wide, stricken, and Peter Newkirk, the not-a-hero, reached out one arm and pulled him over to sit on the table beside him, relighting the cigarette and handing it over to his friend. They sat together, neither saying a word, shoulder leaning into shoulder, sharing a cigarette, til Wilson chased Carter back to the barracks. 

A very quiet Carter slipped into the barracks. The others tried to give him some space, with only LeBeau murmuring to him, "And are you alright, Andre?" then leaving the young man alone as he nodded and crawled into his bunk. He tossed a bit, trying to get comfortable, and then gave it up. He sat up, looked up thoughtfully, and then stepped on the rail of his bunk, levering himself up into Newkirk's bunk. At a questioning look from Kinch, he said very softly, "I'll just sleep up here til he gets back," and settled down to a troubled night's sleep. Kinch and LeBeau exchanged a knowing look, and sighing, each sought their own bunks to try and sleep away this painful night.

Kinch in particular was having trouble, his frown piercing through the dark to stare at the bare boards above him. His mind just refused to make sense of what had happened tonight; oh, not those three guards so much, he'd seen enough, and not just in Germany, to expect the worst of some of those who latched onto a position of power over others unable to defend themselves. But he hadn't expected Schultze or Langenscheidt to step up to the plate at the risk of their careers and probably more; he sure hadn't expected Klink to take the actions HE'd taken.

And Newkirk, that was what was bothering Kinch the most; oh, not that any of them would have wanted Andrew to come to any harm, no, of course not; but that the sarcastic Englishman, of all people, would have put himself in that position for anyone, well, except maybe for the Colonel. It didn't make any sense, and Kinch kept running through things in his mind, trying to force the pieces into something he could wrap his mind around, but still the picture was warped and out of focus.

He KNEW Corporal Peter Newkirk, had figured out who and what the Brit was almost from the very first; knew he was a selfish, self-centered, totally full-of-it s.o.b., although possessed of skills that were a valuable, hell! integral part of the operation. He was reliable and steady on a mission, yes; but on a personal basis, well, he even admitted openly, without shame, that he was a 'natural born coward' .

"It just doesn't make sense. He was close enough to the Barracks when they all started shoving us inside; he should have been one of the first in here. But it's like he hung back til he knew we were all in, well except for Andrew; it's like he was waiting til Andrew got in before he brought up the rear. Andrew says Newkirk actually stepped between, actually picked him up and tossed him at the door. And while Andrew was really upset by that, it wasn't like he was SURPRISED by it."

Kinch frowned again, as he now remembered that wasn't so uncommon, the tall Englishman stepping, wandering, stumbling between Andrew and the other prisoners, Andrew and the guards when there was trouble brewing. Sometimes it had happened with Olsen, too, though Olsen didn't seem to be as prone to get in that kind of a situation as Andrew was.

Somehow, though, it had always appeared just an accident, that intervention; Kinch had been tempted to tell Newkirk he needed to lay off Carter for being so all-fired clumsy and awkward, since it seemed HE wasn't any more sure-footed and ended up with as many, if not more, bruises from it. Kinch had admitted it was probably all to the good, though, since the brash Englishman was a real nasty brawler and usually came out a whole lot better than the hapless young Andrew would have.

Still, last month, that guard at the munitions dump had a clear bead on the young man, Kinch had seen that and gone cold, being too far away to help, knowing they were about to lose their explosives expert and barracks 'little brother', yet, somehow it was Peter who got the bullet in the arm while Andrew ended up, dazed, on his hands and knees out of range. {"None of us could figure out how that happened; Peter just grumbled about 'just my luck; Andrew stumbles and falls, and I'm the one what gets all bunged up!"}

Kinch heaved a deep frustrated sigh, {"Hell, I'm losing my mind! Newkirk? Nah, no way!"} His logical, down-to-earth mind just couldn't accept that outlandish idea, and so he just rolled over and willed himself to sleep, though one last thought came to him, that maybe he needed to take a second look at the annoying Brit, just to be sure he WAS imagining things.

**Author's Note:**

> As if being born in the East End wasn't enough to ensure Peter Newkirk a challenging life, if you survived long enough to have a life that is, World War II, a host of new friends and enemies, and an early stint as mentor to one of the youngsters from Clan O'Donnell pretty well guaranteed it. Not a peaceful life, nor one free from care or pain; no, not that. But challenging? Oh, yes, it certainly qualified as that. And, perhaps, with a little luck, a rather rewarding one. There's been so much fan fiction out there featuring our fast-fingered hero that I don't know that I can say I have a different view of him, but I do know I pictured a different path for him, one perhaps unexpected, but also perhaps happier as the years went by. And yes, one of the 'Heroes' changes his stripes as time goes by, as sometimes people do; but sometimes even heroes have feet of clay.


End file.
